


It comes in

by charcoalscenes



Series: I don't know man I didn't think I'd get this far [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Denial of Feelings, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed, Slight side Mizael/Durbe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28464765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalscenes/pseuds/charcoalscenes
Summary: Three times things are hard, because Yuma is with him. Three times things are easy, because Yuma is with him. One time Vector stops.
Relationships: Tsukumo Yuuma/Vector
Series: I don't know man I didn't think I'd get this far [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070978
Comments: 26
Kudos: 17





	1. One time field trips are hard,

Three times makes a habit. Vector knows this. They all do. With three lifetimes that he knows of under his belt, he likes to think he knows a lot of things. 

None of it helps.

* * *

One time, it’s during a hike. Vector has never liked hikes. He wasn’t crazy about them when he was a prince. The second time he became a king, he had wings. Nowadays, with Yuma, he finds that not much about his preference has changed, and yet here he is, at a hike, with Yuma. It rains. 

It’s not Yuma’s fault, and Vector knows this. That, too, doesn’t matter. The forecast said it’d be sunny for days. The sky itself looked as though it’d be sunny for days. There was no reason to think that heavy clouds would roll in and pour as though the heavens themselves opened – most conveniently at a time when neither of them have protective rain gear and are nowhere near a place to purchase any. These things happen. It’s Vector’s third lifetime. He should be used to small misfortunes like these, accept them. 

But this feels like it’s Yuma’s fault. 

They argue about stepping inside a cavern. It’s Yuma’s idea, again, and as far as Vector is concerned, that’s just another reason to refuse. In fact, it’s perhaps the biggest reason to refuse; more than the possibility that there’s a large wild animal inside, more than the risk of disease, more than a general fear of darkness that Vector certainly doesn’t have – it’s a horrible idea simply because it’s yet another seemingly harmless suggestion to come out of Yuma’s mouth. Out of spite and suspicion, Vector refuses. 

To which Yuma doesn’t try to convince Vector with reason or platitudes, instead continuing to shout over the pounding rain plummeting them both wet. “Get  _ in  _ the cavern!” 

“I’m not getting in the stupid cavern!” He says it in time before a roll of thunder rages over their heads, and still Vector stays his ground. 

That’s something he’s always been good at, for better or worse. Also for better or worse, so is Yuma. “Get inside, Vector!” He practically screams. 

And Vector meets him with equal fervor. “ _ You  _ get inside, Yuma!” 

Inevitably, Vector concedes, if only because Yuma physically resorts to hauling him inside with him. Vector doesn’t mean to talk aloud, but he supposes the rainwater somehow got past his scalp and contaminated his brain because his thoughts are voiced in a flurry anyway, and Yuma is at the brunt of Vector’s monologue, consisting of having lived three lifetimes, died twice, somewhat survived Don Thousand, made countless of mistakes, but this is how he’ll die anyway, from his last mistake, in the middle of the woods, from the soaking rain, or a wild territorial animal, and it’s all because of Yuma, who, as it turns out, is more of a murderous entity than any other foe Vector’s had to face yet, and that includes Nasch, Ninety-six, and Astral. 

Yuma grunts helplessly at it all, but pulls a small towel out his knapsack and tries to dry them both as Vector speaks. By the end of the speech, they’re both huddled against each other waiting for the pouring to stop, sitting by the mouth of what’s thankfully an otherwise empty cavern. They’ve taken off their sweaters, their shirts, their shoes and socks, and Yuma’s even given up on sitting in his wet pants. Their clothes are stretched out beside them, most likely not in the process of drying any time soon. 

Yuma’s wrapped the towel around Vector’s shoulders. Again doing something without really meaning to, Vector wraps some of it around him too. 

“I hate you.” He says. 

Yuma answers, voice tired. “Okay.” 

“You’re my least favorite friend.” 

“I know.” He sighs, lays his cheek on Vector’s shoulder. It’s cold and Vector should shake him off, but he gives a half-hearted wiggle instead, which does nothing but make Yuma grunt again. It’s a passing shower, Vector knows. They’re not far from the lodge where they started. They’ll survive. He'll just never go for a nature walk with Yuma again. 


	2. One time teaching is hard,

Another day. “That’s the break.” Vector says with infinite patience from the passenger’s seat. Yes, his neck could have snapped from the force of Yuma’s actions. That’s only to be expected. He’s learning. “You step on the break when you want to stop. I said to go.” 

“I got scared.” Yuma admits, looking as much, with the car still unmoving. 

“That’s because you accelerated too hard. We went over this. Don’t shove your foot into it.” 

“Okay.” 

“You accelerate lightly. You  _ lightly  _ ease your foot into it.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” Vector echoes, resigned and empty of any hope. He braces his arm over his head to help buffer the inevitable stop-and-go that Yuma’s been repeating for the past few minutes. It’s gradually getting better. It’s very minutely getting better. Once Yuma stops again, Vector mumbles, “You’ve never been this scared of anything before. You’ve been accused of underage speeding before, haven't you?” He'd heard it from their friends, and if it had to do with most anyone else, it would be pure hearsay.

Yuma confirms otherwise. “Yeah, but I might kill someone now.” 

“As opposed to just yourself.” It’s a little harsh but glaringly true, and it’s something Yuma’s never really talked about, at least not around him, but Yuma seems too preoccupied to react to that now, if he would’ve at all. Vector tries to console him for a change. “Listen. No one else is here. It’s a safe place to fuck up. You run over some precious Kamishiro shrubbery, big deal. They weren’t maintaining it well, anyway.” 

“There are trees here.” 

“You’re not going to run us into a tree.” 

“You don’t know that! One time I went too fast on a self-driving roller coaster and fell over a cliff. I didn’t see the cliff.” 

Vector can’t respond to that right away because it registers once more how miraculous it is that they're both alive to be sitting together like this. After a moment to collect himself, Vector tries, “You can see the trees.” 

Yuma takes the consolation as it is and says more assuredly, for his own sake, “I can see the trees.” Slowly, again, he takes his foot off the break, the car dragging itself on the grassy field in the Kamishiro’s property. 

“Don’t step on it yet.” Vector instructs, arm still by his head, fingers itching to rub over his eyes in a nervous habit. “Just get used to the feel of it.” 

“Okay.” 

“Turn the wheel a little bit. A little bit. Don’t–” 

Yuma jerks the wheel, then quickly jerks back, and once more before he’s easing the two of them straight again. Vector has never been a good teacher. This is the first time in a very long time he’s remembered genuinely teaching anyone anything in good faith. And his first time shouldn’t have been with Yuma. Rather, he ought to have worked his way up to dealing with someone like Yuma. 

“Sorry.” Yuma mumbles, shaky, and Vector doesn’t deign to respond.


	3. One time "dates" are hard (and their aftermath is easy),

Vector hits the final nail on his coffin when Yuma tries to make everything up to him by driving him out on a date. 

Multiple things should tick Vector off on what’s long since happened to him, to them, in that proposal alone. Yuma himself calls it a date. He insists that he wants to make up for giving Vector a hard time as of late. Yuma just knows today will be different. Each of those statements ought to have come with a red flag for Vector, who has known Yuma intimately for years, and who, by all means, absolutely does know better by now than to take each of those statements as they sound on the surface. 

Vector says yes, sure. It’s a “date,” whatever, but it’s Yuma; anything can come out of his mouth, and the whole plan sounds innocuous enough. No problems. Easy. Yuma can drive now. They also are both beings that typically need to eat dinner. He’ll have Vector home by ten. It’s safe, it’s solid. The car stops. 

They are not in Heartland City, or in the neighboring town where Vector’s apartment is. Almost an hour past midnight rather than the ten o’clock that Yuma promised him, they’ve passed the highway that connects the two districts, and onto the expanse of flat land barely maintained for the sake of future projects. No other cars followed them off the exit. No other headlights can be seen coming their way. 

Perhaps belatedly, Vector asks, light and unworried, “Did you fill the tank?” 

“Huh?” Yuma replies in a similar tone. He peers over the steering wheel of the car, focusing on the dashboard as though he can change what he sees by pure will alone. “Did I what?” 

“Did you fill the tank? You know.” Vector stares out the open window, at the uneven grass, the exposed dirt, the vast star-filled skies, and the lack of streetlamps. “So the car can run.” He waves.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah.” Yuma sounds convincing. Slowly, uncertain, he switches off the headlights, the radio, the whole car altogether. A beat later, he turns it back on, or tries, and is rewarded only with the same effect as before.

“Are you sure?” 

“I mean, I think so.” Again, perhaps for posterity, he repeats the process. He doesn’t bother to turn it all the way off, instead leaving the headlights and radio on. “Hey, at least the lights work.” 

“Great.” Vector quietly cheers, even slapping the side of the car by his window in brief celebration. 

At least they won’t go hungry – not for the next several hours, at least. It’s odd how Vector’s mind immediately leaps to a worst case scenario when Yuma’s involved, even when Yuma’s already got a signal and is asking for input on who they should call for help. 

“I mean, I can call a company. What do you think? I can also call a friend? Is that bad?” 

“Why would it be bad?” 

“I mean, they’re sleeping or something.” 

“Wake them up.” Vector says simply. “We’re stranded.” 

“Oh, yeah. We’re stranded.” Brows furrowed, Yuma scrolls through his contacts, lingering longest on his sister’s name. “So, not a company?” 

“I like being an inconvenience to my friends, too, Yuma.” 

“I guess that’s– Wait, what do you…” When Yuma trails off to peer up at Vector in suspicion, Vector just smiles back, then removes his seatbelt, checks for any incoming cars (there are absolutely none), and steps out. 

It’s not raining this time, at least, the night clear and the air crisp, not quite cold with the jacket he’s got on. He leaves Yuma to it, shutting the car door to give him privacy, and also to just avoid being part of that conversation explaining why they need help. As fun as it is to hear Yuma’s sister or anyone else yell at him over the phone or in person, it’s something that happens often enough that Vector can sit one out once in a while and not feel like he missed out on a good show after. 

Yuma joins him a few minutes later. Quickly, Vector calls, “Don’t lock us out, Yuma.” 

With anyone else at any other time, it would be pure teasing. Now, Yuma pauses, and after checking, rolls down the windows for good measure before shutting his own door. 

“Who’d you call?” Vector asks. 

“Akari.” He groans. Vector didn’t hear any arguments from inside the car, though, so she was probably at most annoyed if not just concerned. “She’s usually still awake by now and sleeps in during the day. Her schedule’s like that. She’s fine with coming over with a refill.” 

Vector hums, leaning on the car and stretching, a little more at ease now that it’s assured help is on the way. “You sent her our location?” 

“Yeah.” Yuma says, then has the audacity to add, “Duh.” Vector glares at him over his shoulder, but Yuma smiles, sticks out his tongue. 

“Who’d you have called if you got stuck in the middle of nowhere?” Yuma asks.

“I wouldn’t have gotten stuck.” 

“I mean, if you got a flat tire or something.” 

“I keep a spare tire. Do you?” 

“I mean– Like, you know, like nothing works. Like if your power just zaps out.” 

“I’d have to jumpstart the car. You know how to do that, right?” 

“If you didn’t have your jumpstarter.” 

Vector feels himself smile. “If I were like you.” 

“…Yeah.” 

“I’d probably try calling you.” He says, which isn’t untrue. “If I thought you’d be awake, I guess.” Seeing Yuma’s smile come back, Vector goes on. “That was before, though. Now I know better.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I know better now than to trust you with car stuff.” He faces him fully now, grinning with arms propped on the roof between them. “I think I’d call Kotori. Miza, maybe. Tokunosuke.” 

“Tokunosuke?” Yuma’s nose wrinkles, but he cringes after, thoughtful and unable to do much more than accept the criticism, valid as it is. Vector gives him a minute to mull it over, which, judging by the way his gaze lingers on the vehicle in front of him, he is, deeply. “I’ve still got a lot to learn.” He concedes. 

Vector huffs, a single laugh making way for a series of snickers that only affirm the sentiment. Yuma, not looking too offended, says, “You didn’t really freak out over this.” 

“You think I’d freak out?” 

“Well, a little, I guess. You didn’t even yell at me?” 

“I don’t yell that much. But I still can.” At that, Yuma’s mouth snaps shut. “The night’s not over. Anything can happen. It can rain.” 

“It won’t rain.” Yuma affirms, staring up at the sky as though daring it to challenge him, which he shouldn’t do. It’s Yuma. Anything really can happen. 

“You’re good with people yelling at you, though.” 

“Yeah, but not today. This was supposed to be a really good day.” 

“It was.” An admission spills out before Vector really thinks about it, but it’s true enough. He was able to sleep in, meet Yuma late, get treated to a restaurant’s grand opening, and play in a mock tournament the staff was hosting with Yuma as a partner. They lost track of time. They also lost the tournament. They took a vow of silence on that before finally leaving. In the end, his promise is still mostly unbroken. “I had fun.” Vector gives him. 

Yuma still beams at him sometimes like Vector’s given him a treat, and for a while, Vector remembers trying to avoid that look, dodging any opportunity wherein he thought Yuma might  _ do that _ . Facing most of their friends had proven hard, hurtful, long after the reset. Even now, Vector second-guesses habitually; never mind that, in many ways, he’s in like-company with a few of them. He’d still been an outlier. 

What’s proven more difficult, though, is trying to avoid Yuma for too long. It’s also hard to feel too much like an outlier around him, as though if Vector has to feel put-off by anything, anyone, it isn’t himself or the doubts over everything he’s done in the past anymore, but ironically, it’s just Yuma. 

It’s ridiculously easy – given everything that can go wrong and has gone wrong – to be with Yuma. “I know why Kotori’s so zen all the time.” Vector decides to share.

“Hm?” Yuma blinks at the stray comment. “What do you mean? Why?” 

“Anything that can happen,” Vector stares at him intently, willing him to take the words seriously, “will happen, when I’m with you. I’ve accepted it. That’s why I can’t freak out anymore. I’m numb.” 

“You  _ just said  _ you had a great time!” Yuma barks, the loudest he’s been since the tournament a couple of hours earlier. “You can’t be numb if you’re having fun? Kotori isn’t  _ numb  _ when she’s with me?”

“She’s kind of too calm, isn’t she? You never wonder why, with you being her bestie?” 

“She’s just a very calm person! And it just so happens that it’s very exciting to spend time with me. I’ve been told!” 

“That’s one way to put it.” Vector mutters. 

“I know! And I am. I gave you the time of your life today.” Proud, Yuma stands straighter, and his gaze stops, stays just over the head of his companion and the car. Vector knows why, of course, has been taking in the familiar sight since before Yuma’s tank ran out. The stars seeming to ground him, Yuma smiles. “I liked it, too.” Then, “Thanks for being with me today.” 

Vector doesn’t know how many times they’ve ended a day together much like this, whether it’s with others or just between the two of them. For someone who Vector knows has repeatedly, by multiple people, been associated with daylight and sunshine, there’s always been something fitting about ending a day with Yuma under a night sky filled with stars. 

“Yeah.” Vector says. “Sure.” 

He keeps all the rest of it silent and to himself.


	4. One time closeness is easy,

He doesn’t know when it started, but for better or worse, it’s probably from soon after they first met. 

Vector had studied Yuma before approaching in the guise of Shingestsu. It’s not a proud moment when looking back on it, but still, it was terribly easy to learn plenty about Yuma even on a surface level (and digging more into his background certainly helped, too). Yuma absorbs affection like a sponge, Vector learned, and gives it back just as much; with a little pressure, it spills from him easily. 

So, the only time Yuma seemed to keep his distance from Vector, physically, as far as the latter can remember, is after Astral had enacted the reset, and that was perhaps more from Vector himself keeping his distance, with every wound from before still avidly fresh. Yuma seemed to get it, though, at least for a while. But Vector could suspect as much as Yuma inevitably working to get the two of them closer again in time.

* * *

There’s no line at the hotel’s reception area, so the two of them walk straight to the attendant, one bag each, their hands between them casually entwined. They’re greeted with a polite smile, and as Vector places his bag down before digging in his pocket, the attendant greets them. “Hello and welcome.”

“Hi.” Yuma says. 

“Hello. A room for just the night, please.” Vector replies, fishing out his wallet. 

Nothing is amiss during the process, and soon enough, the two of them ride up the elevator, and then settle into their room, placing their bags down. Yuma follows his first impulse and makes a beeline to the fridge, inspecting its contents with all the experience of a minibar connoisseur. Vector decides to freshen up in the washroom, leaving him to it. 

It’s only the second time they’ve rode out with a team from the same company Mirai works with, something Vector didn’t actually know when he’d gotten a job there – never mind that Yuma’s had a couple of part-time positions in the past few years there as well. It’d been counted as semi-volunteer work, the organization hosting small festival-esque events one weekend every year for fundraisers while hosting Duel Monsters themed stalls and tournaments. 

Naturally, he hadn’t gotten a chance to wash up between helping build some of the temporary units at the area and helping to organize it once things got started. Finally feeling clean for the first time in the past several hours, he wrings his hair lightly with a towel, stepping out with a larger one around his waist, his clothes in a wrinkled clump in one hand. 

With darker skies greeting them now from outside the window, Yuma’s seemed to have already gotten comfortable, dressed in simple cotton shorts and a shirt, laying in bed with the television on, a drama playing out with the volume on low. He looks up when Vector comes in. “Wanna eat?” Vector asks. 

“I ordered room service? My treat.” Yuma winks. Vector scoffs, goes to his bag and shuffles through it for a new set of clothes. It’s in the middle of the act that he pauses, rising up to height again and meeting Yuma’s stare. 

“Hey, is there just one bed?” He asks. 

It’s redundant, mostly. The room’s small enough that, besides the wash, everything else can be seen at a glance – the dining table and seating, the bed, the fridge. Yuma, though, follows Vector’s gaze anyway, the both of them taking a long moment to assure themselves of what’s right in front of their faces, two pairs of eyes roaming the area just to be sure. 

Vector changes the question, then. “Why did they give us just one bed?” 

“Maybe all of the rooms have one bed?” Yuma guesses. Vector doubts that, and as Yuma frowns cluelessly at him, he tries to think back, sifting through the scene of when they entered for any moment that could’ve waved a flag as to how they got here. Maybe the receptionist is just new? 

But as the memory becomes clearer, Vector catches it. Briefly, he sucks his teeth. “It was that.” 

“What was that?” Yuma asks, and when Vector pauses, deciding whether or not to answer honestly, Yuma goes on. “Should we ask for another room or something? I mean, I’m fine. But it’s up to you.” 

“You’re okay with it?” It comes out mildly disbelieving, but then he remembers exactly who he’s with, and yeah, that makes sense. “It’s not too small?” He ventures. 

“Well, no. Is it?” As though testing it, Yuma shuffles to one side of the bed, and pats the other, like that’s an effective sort of test for Vector’s comfort. “I sleep in a hammock.” Yuma reminds him. 

That makes sense, too. Vector himself has been sleeping in a tight twin frame for the better part of this lifetime, so this is barely any different in size from what he’s used to either. Still. He should make a fuss out of this, ideally, for posterity. It was a glaring error made on the part of the hotel staff, ridiculously presumptuous, and things like that ought to be addressed, right? 

“Or, hey,” Yuma pipes up again, “I can just get another room. No big deal. I feel kinda bad for having you pay for it anyway.” 

“Oh, I mean, I was actually planning to ask you to split it with me later on.” 

“What? You were?” 

“You think this was free?” 

“Isn’t this free?” 

It is, actually, with company money at that. Vector doesn’t tell him, instead addressing the other issue. “Forget it. This is fine.” He goes back to the washroom to put back the towels and change into new clothes. And he huffs. 

Oddly, it really is fine, though he doubts it’d be this fine with anyone else. He might tolerate it with someone else if he had to, but with Yuma, there’s a noticeable lack of burden or weight to the situation. Instead, it just is. 

Room service arrives soon after, when both Vector and Yuma are rested on the bed before Yuma helps bring the food in. They eat, talking about the events that day, how Vector’s fairing with this job, how Yuma feels about working with the same employer as his mom, and about the kids from earlier. Yuma had to teach the youngest tournament participants rules they missed. Vector had to stay with a girl who’d been crying over a lost doll until someone got it back from lost-and-found. Like last time they did this, it feels more like a sleepover than a trip for work. 

It gets late. Vector leaves the entryway light on, the rest of the room dimmed. They both crawl under the covers. 

“You don’t hog the blankets, do you?” 

“You’re the one who might hog the blankets.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” 

That’s how Vector thought they’d say goodnight, and at first, it seemed it was. His eyes close, his breathing evens out. Yuma turns, still awake as well, and neither of them are touching. The gap under the blanket feels awkward, somehow, like a draft that the cheap sheet over them doesn't quite compensate for. That – and the sound of Yuma breathing next to him, simultaneously too loud and too quiet, too present but strangely too far – makes Vector acutely aware of the discomfort the empty space brings. 

He could make good on his word, tug the blanket closer, make it a little cozier, but it still wouldn’t be quite warm. Experimentally, he does, pulling the sheet an inch closer to himself. And then another. 

“Ey.” Yuma grumbles, holding fast to his end, and Vector stops, figuring it’s too late for even a mock fight over this since they still have to head back early tomorrow. 

He closes his eyes again, not having realized he’d opened them, and wills his mind to go blank. It doesn’t work perfectly, but as much as he can, he pushes back the recognition that the reason he isn’t entirely comfortable at the moment isn’t because Yuma is here with him. He just isn’t near enough. 

Yuma shifts again, and Vector chances opening his eyes, turning to look. On his back now, Yuma’s head is still turned to meet Vector’s gaze, staring quietly and – Vector’s probably just imagining it – just as thoughtfully as he is. 

Something clicks, though, at that look, and Vector says, “This isn’t working.” He doesn’t sit up or leave. He rolls his arm closest to Yuma out, and beckons. 

Yuma pauses, and Vector thinks maybe he’s not going to follow through with it. But he scoots closer a moment later, and the two of them rest on their sides, Yuma facing Vector’s neck, Vector’s arm over him. 

They don’t press together, but they’re close enough that, finally, the warmth is there, feeling realer than it did with just the sheet. Yuma’s hands curl close to Vector’s chest, and he snuggles just a bit closer. 

“We tell no one.” Vector mumbles. In his arms, Yuma murmurs a quiet agreement. 

When Vector closes his eyes again, it takes him longer to even out his breathing, to will his mind blank. With his eyes closed, Yuma’s scent is more acute. He’s touched and held Yuma before, but this is new, his shoulders rising and falling, his back following the movement under Vector’s palm. And he’s warmer like this. 

Neither of them pull away. It takes him longer to drift to sleep like this, Vector thinks, than if he’d just tried to deal with how they were positioned before, but it isn’t because he doesn’t prefer this instead. He does prefer this – more than a little too much.

* * *

“I’m sorry for the mix-up.” The receptionist’s head ducks in embarrassment. Vector spotted the worker before he and Yuma were set to leave. He’d waited until Yuma was out of earshot, though, nudging him to wait outside while Vector settled things at the front desk. It’s not a screaming match, but he figures this is important enough to bring up; anyone but him and Yuma, and this scene could be playing out worse. 

He accepts the apology as is. “Just be more mindful next time.” 

Outside, Yuma’s already ended the call with their ride, and tells Vector they’re close but made a wrong turn last minute. The two of them wait while the car reroutes. “Everything okay in there?” He asks, nodding to the hotel’s entrance. 

“Yeah.” Vector says. He’ll have to sit with this once the day is over, after they head home tonight, and Vector’s alone. For now, he can push it to the back of his mind. He returns the inquiry in kind, asking Yuma, “It really was, wasn’t it?” 

It’s doubtful that Yuma has to go through the same circles and mental hoops that Vector silently does whenever things like this happen. “Mmhm!” Yuma answers, his cheer immediate and still irksomely innocent. Vector can’t tell if this attitude helps himself any or not. “We can do this again next year.” 

Their ride rolls up, the car by now familiar, and Vector hums in agreement, leaving things as innocuous as Yuma will have it.


	5. One time confessions are easy,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (happy birthday!) 
> 
> (to me)

It gets too cold to do as much outdoors as before. Whether it’s in this life or any previous ones, Vector has consistently been prone to adopting one skill: procrastinating – and it’s all the more put to appropriate use now that he’s been having to deal with a thing called Winter. He puts his Gazer to sleep, leaving Mizael’s message on read, knowing that it can wait, whether or not Mizael would agree. 

Vector finally decides to go through with what Mizael needs, though, when Yuma invites him to go gift shopping for his father – and Vector thinks: Good; two birds, one stone. Yuma’s internship usually has him jumping locations in the field, while Vector’s has him stationed in one location near the edge of Heartland City, and on a day Yuma happens to be assigned to that base, he suggests Vector come along and, if not help him pick something out, at least keep him company. Vector takes the car to work that day with Mizael’s tools waiting in the trunk for when his date with Yuma is over. 

(It doesn’t hit him right away that he’s calling it that, and as soon as it does occur to him, he pushes the thought aside. It’s what Yuma calls everything, anyway. Naturally, he can do it, too. Again – nothing big, he thinks.) 

He leaves the car parked, meeting Yuma outside headquarters. There are plenty of shops nearby so that Vector doesn’t have to drive them anywhere, and he isn’t worried about walking back to pick the car up either, especially with the layers he has on keeping him warm enough. 

“Anything you have in mind?” Vector asks once they get started. He isn’t surprised when Yuma leads them to a local specialties shop first. Vector’s found himself window-shopping there during breaks or after work, a few times leaving with a new plant he’ll try to keep healthy (again), or an accessory. 

“Uh, no.” Yuma cringes. “What would you get me if I were leaving and didn’t know when I’d be back?” 

“One of these, maybe.” Vector takes a gloved hand out of his pocket and promptly flips Yuma off. It’s quick so no one passing might see it. Vector pushes it into the safety of his jacket again, smirking when Yuma’s cringe morphs into a scowl. 

“Yeah, okay.” He grumbles, and looks around as they get closer to the rows and rows of shops and eateries the area is known for. 

When they face the store Vector figured Yuma would choose first, Yuma stops to look through the window. The lighting is warm behind it, this season’s display showcasing new jewelry, perfumes, and some winter clothes. A few customers are already wandering in the small space inside. 

“You really don’t know when he’ll be back?” Vector asks. 

Yuma hums. “No?” He frowns, then tries not to. “A year, maybe. That’s what he said.” 

When he doesn’t elaborate, Vector chooses to say honestly, “That sucks.” It’s a bit harsher than intended, but it’s a good enough response; Yuma peers at him, smiles. 

“Yeah.” He says. “Let’s go in?” Holding the door for Vector, they start the search. 

Less than ten minutes later, empty-handed, they spend the better part of the next hour wandering through four more stores, Yuma oddly mindful of the time and checking in with Vector to see if the other is tired. He isn’t, though, because he’s barely trying, giving the minimum on feedback for whether Kazuma might like this or that and otherwise trailing more like a shadow by Yuma’s side, and Yuma lets him. 

It’s probably because they’ve talked about this before, how sometimes Vector is able to handle less and less as the day goes on, whether there’s work or not, and during the times he’s been invited out to anything that Yuma’s come to as well, he’s seen how quiet Vector can get, fine to let their friends speak while he hangs back, engaged but often not actively so. 

It’s a nice night to do as much and hang back. As much as the cold might affect Vector into becoming more of a homebody than one might ever prefer being, the city almost makes up for it with the decor, with the liveliness of other people leaving work or school or such with an intention to enjoy the rest of the evening as well. Already, seasonal lighting is up, and the sight of that can help encourage someone to welcome the dark, if only to see the city’s ornaments lit up like countless lamps kissing the sky. 

The thing Yuma has in his hands from an outdoor display glints, reflecting the warm lights above them. It’s something brass and oval. Vector’s eyes climb up, the shine surrounding them kissing Yuma’s clothes as well, his cheeks and his eyes. Yuma places the object down, and says, “Okay, I think I got it.” 

“Hm?” Vector doesn’t shake himself out of the trance, doesn’t see any need to. He knows he has the sort of face that doesn’t make it obvious when he’s in it; after all, it’s the only way to explain how he hasn’t been caught in one yet. Then again, Yuma’s always been kind of dense with these things. 

“I’m gonna get him the tumbler we saw inside. The one with the multiple containers? I figure he’ll find that useful.” He’d shown Vector that, yes, and had been a bit disproportionally hyped about the thing, describing it with words like “cool” and “genius” while Vector himself settled on “alright.” Yuma continues now. “But I’ll also get him that cute container we saw at the other place, the small one shaped like a cat?” 

“The pillbox.” 

“Was it a pillbox? Well, he has pills. It could be for anything, though.” He says. “He’ll like it. It’s his style.” Vector can see that. It’s in the same cutesy taste that could match most of the trinkets he’s caught in the Tsukumo house. “And I figure it’s on the way anyway – to that place you’d want to eat?” 

Vector hadn’t said anything when they passed by it, having peered in the window silently before following Yuma inside another store. “The Green Room?” He asks. 

“Yeah, I think you can serve yourself there. It’s pretty cool!” In truth, though the food looked good, Vector’s interest was in most part from seeing the people inside choose their own servings, almost like a buffet, before pushing them all through skewers and dipping them to fry at their own tables. Almost like playing with food, it looked like something Yuma would enjoy. 

“Let’s head there, then.” 

While Yuma dips inside the shop to nab and pay for his first present, Vector waits outside to mull over the rest of the night. It’s entirely possible that his and Yuma’s tastes for dinner just coincided by chance, but Vector finds it nice to think that maybe he noticed Vector’s interest passing by it before. 

Their relatively short shopping trip a success, Yuma sets both bags on an extra chair at their table. They prep the mix that the restaurant provides. Small portions of food are skewered and rolled over it, coated before several sticks are dipped into the mini fryer between them. 

Yuma collected double the food of what Vector came back with from the selection, including some dessert already dripping with chocolate and matcha flavored dip. 

“You’re gonna overdo it.” Vector warns when Yuma still doesn’t take his skewers out of the fryer. 

“It tastes nice when it’s a little overdone.” 

To prove he’s wrong, Vector takes the first bite of his. “No, it doesn’t.” 

Despite sitting next to the window, they only notice the snowfall close to the end of their meal, Yuma’s focus on the food, and Vector nestled in the warmth and comfort of it all. Once Yuma points it out, they finish dinner staring out. Others, too, both inside the restaurant and outside their window pause to watch the light flurries gently floating down. 

Vector hums. “First snowfall.” 

“Oh, really? Like, first snow of the season?” 

“Yeah. Right? I didn’t see anything on the forecast about this, so it’s probably gonna be quick.” 

“Aw. I guess that’s okay. I mean, we’re driving.” 

“What, you want it to snow harder otherwise?” 

“Well, just to get the, uh, ambiance? The mood.” 

“You’re a sap.” 

“What? It’s romantic.” Yuma defends. Vector snickers, unbelieving, and would’ve needled him for it if he didn’t keep going, saying, “I heard that if you spend the first snowfall with someone, it’s with the person you love. I think this counts. But it really does look like it’s gonna be a quick flurry.” 

If Yuma notices the silence, sudden from where Vector sits, he doesn’t show it, sitting back to quietly enjoy the scene outside. It’s a normal thing for him to say, actually, and Vector can almost berate himself for feeling, at once, entirely shaken by Yuma’s statement. He forces out the only thing that he can think of other than what just came out of Yuma’s mouth in reply. “That’s the first snow of the year.” 

“Huh?” 

“What you’re talking about, with the couples thing–” Which feels like an important aspect to distinguish right now. “It’s the first snow of the year that people say that about, not the first snow of the season.” 

“Oh.” Yuma frowns, his bottom lip jutting in a pout as though disappointed, and Vector can’t look away from that, can’t help that the sudden veer in this conversation is ricocheting in his head. Why would Yuma be disappointed? Because he got it wrong? Because…? “Close enough.” Yuma says. 

By the time Yuma finishes paying for the meal and they walk out, the flurry has lessened to almost nothing, and they merge into the light traffic of people again, back to Vector’s car. 

The silence doesn’t stretch for long. “I think I was in the house during the first snowfall.” Yuma mulls over aloud. 

Vector has the option of just not acknowledging it, leaving it with Yuma and not even touching it, not putting himself through that. Moments like these just come to the two of them so smoothly, Vector precariously unguarded from his daily routine, and then mindlessly wandering around, and then dinner – and then Yuma saying something that is going to sit with Vector long after tonight but with the same ease as someone mentioning the weather. (Oddly enough, too, Yuma actually was talking about just the weather. Really.) 

Instead of ignoring it, though, Vector replies. “It happened overnight.” He remembers waking up to piles of snow when the ground was clear just before he went to sleep the night before. 

It’s not a long walk to where he’s parked. Vector fishes out his keys, opens the door to the rear seats for Yuma to place his bags in. Yuma grunts as he reaches in and adjusts it to keep them from tipping over. “Well,” he says, “whatever counts as a first snowfall, I do love you–” He leans back out, standing in front of Vector and smiling. It’s small. “–you know?” 

By pure muscle memory does Vector push the door shut when Yuma steps back for him to do so. The slam gets through to him, at least partially, and he lets an answer slip through his lips before it could be seen as at all belated. “Yeah.” It comes out shaky. Because it’s cold now. And he’s just laughing. “Sure.” 

Yuma’s smile ticks up, and both of them move to get into the car. “You’re supposed to say it back or something.” He still keeps talking, like he’s only indignant, like this isn’t a memory Vector’s going to keep the way other people keep heirlooms from loved ones, gifts that remind them of people they miss or of places they want to return to. 

“I love you.” Vector responds in kind, indulgent, and slides into the driver’s seat. Their doors slam. He starts the car and, again, veers, “You still okay to make a stop first?” 

“Mmhm.” Yuma clicks his seatbelt on. “That’s okay.” 

“Good.” Vector says. The headlights flick to life. 

They move along. 


	6. One time kisses are easy,

On the drive there, Vector takes a chance. At a red light, he asks, “Why are you single?” 

This is a bad idea. Yuma starts, blinking at Vector like he’d just asked if the sky is green. Naturally, Vector isn’t currently in a position to gauge much of Yuma’s reactions than with a brief glance, what with making sure neither of them crash into a car or a tree and all, and not because eye-contact could give away that the question actually means more to him than he’d like to let on. 

The light turns green. “Single?” Yuma asks. “Like, with dating?” 

“Yeah. With dating.” 

“Uh.” Yuma answers. For another moment, the only other sound is of Vector’s car and the radio playing, Vector usually keeping it at a low volume. “I don’t know.” Yuma finishes. 

Which is how Vector figured he would. Yuma’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, but beyond that, he’s also had as much trouble translating it into real world conversation, perhaps almost as poorly as even Vector has. Especially when it comes to things like this – romance as more than an idea; the real possibility of it. 

“You like Kotori.” Vector broaches, light. Driving helps. Can’t just let them die, after all; Yuma himself said as much not long ago. “Don’t you?” 

“Well. Yeah.” Yuma replies, and Vector sees him shift in his seat. He repeats, “I don’t know.” It’s quiet and a little helpless and a lot like what Vector himself is feeling right now. 

“Hm.” 

“Why are you still single?” 

Vector doesn’t expect Yuma to shift things onto him. “Me?” 

“Yeah. Why, uh, have you been single?” 

“I– I’ve dated.” Vector answers, mildly offended, though he doesn’t mean for it to come across that way. Oddly, he’s inclined to respond defensively. “I’ve dated people.” 

“Oh, okay.” Yuma says concedingly, reacting to the terseness. “Right, yeah, you’ve dated.” 

“Yeah.” Vector confirms, firm. The grip on his wheel, too, has grown firm. 

“Not, like, for a while, though.” 

“Yeah? It still counts?” 

“Oh, yeah, no, of course. Yeah.” 

This isn’t working. Vector probably shouldn’t have tried; with Yuma, a lot of Vector’s efforts end up not working, after all. Trying to get a feel for where Yuma’s head is in matters of the heart, of all things, really has a greater possibility of Vector getting more lost on the topic. Moreover, it’s not supposed to turn around on him. 

They round the last corner on the way to Mizael’s duplex. Vector slows down until he finds a spot near the house. He thinks Yuma would stay quiet, but while Vector is maneuvering the car to stop, he asks, “Why?” 

“Hm?” 

“Why bring it up?” It’s almost like Yuma’s eyes try to catch his, but fail; Vector is very busy, after all, making sure their fit is snug and roomy. “Is it because of the snow thing?” 

“I guess.” Vector says, and finally stops, shutting the car off. “Just curious.” He tries again. “You don’t ever think about it?” 

“Uh. Sometimes.” And he leaves it at that. Ridiculously enough, that one word is the most enigmatic response Vector’s ever heard from Yuma on this topic, and he doesn’t know how to respond to it himself before Yuma offers, “Do you need help taking all the stuff down?” 

“Sure.” Vector answers. There’s plenty of time for the two of them to talk this out, maybe when Vector can better prepare himself for it first, when he doesn’t feel so at risk of starting and stopping and backing out of something that could end with him spilling his guts – or stomping on his own heart to shut it up. He steps out of the car, hears Yuma following, and opens the trunk for them. 

“What were you doing with a power saw?” Yuma immediately asks, and takes the initiative just as fast to heft the item out of the trunk, leaving Vector with lifting the large toolbag. 

He locks the car behind him, not entirely sure how long they’ll take to give these back to Mizael. “Building needed some repairs done.” Vector says. “And a few neighbors started asking for more favors. I didn’t feel like buying the equipment myself. You okay carrying that to the walkway on your own?” 

“Yeah, it’s not too heavy! And I want to see if I can, anyway. My parents are still too scared to get one of these, said they knew someone whose hand got cut from it.” 

“And, what, you’re thinking of getting one for them anyway?” 

“Yeah! It’s useful, right?” 

He places it on the bench by the front door, and Vector shrugs off the bag to sit beside it. It’s amazing how effortless he can make lifting something so heavy look when he intentionally tries to look cool. 

Yuma steps ahead to the front door, but pauses. “Which doorbell is his?” 

“Hm, I don’t know. I’ve never used the bell.” Vector pulls out his Gazer and calls in Mizael’s contact, waiting. It keeps him waiting; he watches Yuma pace the front of the house – staring at the shrubbery and flowers that Vector’s learned is mostly Mizael’s handiwork – before the connection drops. Vector frowns and tries again. 

Yuma asks what Vector hoped he wouldn’t. “Does he know you’re coming?” 

The answer is no. Vector answers silently by slanting his lips with a noncommittal gesture. Yuma’s expression dims a little in comprehension, and on Vector’s end, the connection stops again. 

“You didn’t tell him?” 

“Let me see if he’s home.” Vector decides to venture, moving around the house to where the windows are. It’s a small enough place and one floor tall, and if he catches a light on or movement inside, he can always leave Mizael a text for when the guy picks up his phone next. Or, he can make enough noise so that Mizael comes out to investigate. 

“Are you gonna break in?” Yuma follows, in actuality speaking Vector’s mind. “Do you know which part of the house is his?” 

“Yeah.” He’s fairly sure. Then, he throws Yuma a look over his shoulder, realizing that he might well be with someone at the moment who would enable him to break into a friend’s house. Some things really never change. 

They both keep walking. It’s the farthest window after the next corner that Vector sees a light on inside. 

For better or worse, they’re silent as they decide to approach it, Yuma staying a few paces back while Vector cranes his neck to peek inside. He doesn’t expect to find anything, really; at most, maybe Mizael is taking a nap, or has his headphones on, or he’s reading – something boring like that. Likely, the room would be empty until Vector knocks on the glass. 

He doesn’t find nothing, though. The curtains are sheer. It’s an ill decision, especially in a crucial time such as this. Vector can’t wrap his head around what made Mizael think that style was a good idea. It clearly isn’t. Vector could’ve been anybody. Vector _is_ anybody. Anybody can look in and see Mizael’s business. 

Yuma inches closer. “Hey, you see anything?” 

“Hm.” Vector pauses, his mind already working on how this can play out. Yuma’s not had as much luck in the height department as most of their friends over time, and while Vector just barely manages to peek above the bottom of the window, Yuma wouldn’t stand a chance on his own. This is, however, just the sort of thing they needed tonight. “Come check this out.” He beckons. 

Yuma comes obediently, making an effort to peek over the lower part of the windowsill, even hopping a little. Vector says, “I’ll give you a boost.” 

“Okay.” Yuma says, unquestioning, and lets Vector wrap his arms around his waist before lifting, knees bent slightly while carrying Yuma up higher and angling him to face inside. “Okay.” Yuma repeats, squinting. 

“Anything?” Vector waits. 

And Yuma pauses just as he had a moment ago. Vector can feel him tense, and from here, doesn’t need to hide the smile breaking out. A moment more, and Yuma taps his arm. “Hey, put me down.” 

“Why?” Instead, Vector tries to haul him higher, pretending he doesn’t notice when Yuma starts to struggle. He probably blows it, though, when he laughs. “H-Hey, what’s going on?” 

“We gotta go.” 

There’s yelling from inside. Vector moves, not putting Yuma down but taking the chance to look around him. On the other side of the window, Mizael shoves Durbe back, Durbe’s hand flying off from where it was under Mizael’s shirt, and when Mizael barks, both Yuma and Vector’s names are barely muffled by the closed glass. He stalks dangerously from where he’d been pinned on the wall opposite from where Vector and Yuma stand. 

Yuma wriggles quite desperately, all the more urgent when he repeats, “We gotta _go!_ ” 

Vector finally releases him and bolts, turning the corner just as Mizael opens the window behind them, this time shouting Vector’s name alone – which Vector vaguely finds a little unfair, but then again, Mizael knows him well enough to determine when to place more blame on him. 

They leave the tools and items unattended on the bench, Vector remotely opening the car for them before they reach it, and seemingly from pure instinct, Yuma hops onto the driver’s seat – only to be shoved forcefully to the other side when Vector just as quickly makes the executive decision not to trust him to drive in this state. 

“No!” He tells him, and leaves Yuma to adjust himself on the passenger’s side while he quickly pulls his own seatbelt on, starts the car, and turns the wheel. 

He knows Mizael is now outside the house because Yuma reports rather shrilly, “He’s coming! They’re coming!” And as Vector checks for any cars, finds none, and pulls out of the parking spot down the street, Yuma screams from the open window. “ _We’re sorry!_ ” 

It sounds almost genuine, but it would have still been ruined if Mizael caught the sight of Vector’s smile, still undying, as he and Yuma flee the scene. 

* * *

They argue about it a little. They’re not given much time to argue about it past Yuma making baseless accusations of Vector setting him up and Vector badly feigning innocence during the drive to Yuma’s house before Vector’s Gazer starts ringing. 

“Don’t answer it.” Vector instructs, even as Yuma pulls it out of his pocket. 

“It’s Mizael.” 

“I know. Don’t answer it.” 

“I mean, we’re sorry. We can just say that we’re sorry, it was an accident–” 

“We can say all that later, when he’s calmed down. When they’ve both calmed down.” 

The Gazer stops, and Yuma’s Gazer is quick to follow. “Oh, no.” He says. 

“You can answer it.” 

“Why do _I_ have to answer _mine_ and we don’t have to answer _yours?_ ” 

“I’m _driving_ , Yuma. I might run us into a tree.” 

“Then _run us into a tree._ ” He seethes, then looks rather forlornly at his ringing Gazer. “I’ll put it on video.” 

“Don’t put it on video. I’ll get distracted.” 

“Then don’t get distracted.” He places the Gazer on, and promptly does as he said he would. While Vector can’t see the other end of the line without a Gazer on himself, he knows Mizael – and Durbe, likely – can see him if Yuma angles him in there. Would-be-cheerful, Yuma greets, “Hi, Miza–” 

“ _You!_ ” Comes the first roar. “What are you two doing stalking my house? You couldn’t call? You didn’t think to knock!” 

“I forgot how to knock,” is what Yuma chooses to start with. “I forgot that we could knock, is what I mean. We didn’t know which bell to ring! We did call! Didn’t we, Vector? We just came by to return your stuff; did you see it?” 

“Vector! Are you there!” Neither of them need to answer, and Vector doesn’t take his eyes off the road, continuing his stance of guiltlessness, whether or not Mizael continues speaking to him. “You owe me _double_ now. You take _a month_ to return something to me, and of all days – of all _nights_ – it had to be _tonight?_ And _like that?_ ” 

“‘M sorry.” Yuma mutters under his breath, quite uselessly, because at the reminder that he was there too, Mizael relays the same message to him. 

That in particular doesn’t sit quite right, though, and it moves Vector into action once he can safely stop again. “Hey, Miza.” He calls playfully, looking to the camera so it’s as though he’s staring at Mizael directly. Like that, Vector kisses the air loudly, and gestures to throw the kisses at the screen. Yuma hides his smile as a cringe. “Tell Durbe we said hi.” 

“ _You–_ ” 

Vector cuts him off with more obscene kissing blown his way, and is rewarded with the voices of both Mizael and Durbe on the line (Durbe torn between calming Mizael down and berating Vector alongside him) before Yuma makes quick work to apologize again, and hangs up. 

Yuma doesn’t seem to realize he’s already started laughing before the call ends. Vector nearing his neighborhood, he doesn’t stop now. “We’re assholes,” he giggles. 

Vector agrees with more kissing, blowing them in Yuma’s general direction as he steers, and when Yuma’s laughter eases down, he mimics the sound. 

“They seemed really into it.” 

“Durbe looks really good at it.” 

“Are we voyeurs for doing that?” 

“Yeah, we’re voyeurs.” 

The lights in Yuma’s first floor are on when Vector pulls up in front of the house. Yuma reaches behind him for the bags left there, still grinning even when worriedly asking, “What are we going to do?” 

“They’ll get over it.” Vector says, though he’s not entirely sure if that's true. “We’ll get them a great wedding gift or something.” 

“Can you imagine? Ugh, that’s the first time I’ve ever caught someone making out. This is horrible.” 

“Grossed out?” 

“What? No. I mean _we’re_ horrible. You more than me, though.” 

“You usually thank me for giving you a ride home and keeping you company.” 

“I can do that, too, but you were awful tonight at the last minute. Whatever.” He laughs. “It’ll work itself out.” 

Vector winks at that, blowing him a final kiss for kicks, and Yuma grins, leaning in and pecking Vector briefly on the cheek. They’re both still smiling when he opens his door and cheers, “Thanks, I guess!” 

He and Vector share one more smile once he’s outside. When he waves from the walkway, Vector nods back, and in no time, Yuma’s inside, out of sight. Vector’s Gazer buzzes again, with a single message this time rather than a call. In all caps, Vector reads it since he has a chance – ”RING THE WHITE BELL OR KNOCK NEXT TIME. OR ELSE.” 

“Or else what,” Vector mutters, but doesn’t actually send the reply, putting the Gazer aside again and glancing once more at the house before pulling away. 

With the last events of the night still running through his mind, it’s only at the second stoplight back to his place that the silence penetrates him, as well as the lack of another body in his car. He eases into it, replaying Yuma’s reaction to the whole thing just to savor the moment, but by the time the light is green again, his hands and feet stay still, his car unmoving. No one is behind him to blare their horn, and giving himself that minute to untangle his thoughts, he lets himself stay. The light goes red again. 

He kissed his cheek. Vector touches it thoughtlessly, as though there’d be proof there, but it happened so fast, had fit right into the mood; Vector had registered it, briefly, and then Yuma spoke up again, smiled, left, and then Mizael’s text came, and then Vector left – and it was all enough to abruptly stop Vector from blowing up the act in his head at the time. 

Yuma kissed him. That’s not happened before. Vector doesn’t remember that happening before. Unlike holding hands and hugging and declarations of affection even in the most casual of circumstances, kisses are entirely new to them. 

The light tells Vector to go, and this time, he does. And _oh, fuck_ , Yuma’s kissed him, just a little bit. Just in the spur of a moment. The guy Vector’s been deep in it for long enough that repression has become a habit just kissed him. It was easy, like everything else, like they’ve always done it. But they haven’t. 

It’s going to start again, maybe, like the holding, like “I care for you,” like the pseudo-dates and the companionship that’s turned effortless over time. Vector can just as easily let them both fall into this habit, too. _Is that okay?_ Is that how he wants it? _Is that okay?_

He’s close to his apartment, but pulls over a couple blocks early, stopping to just sit in his car, joy still flowing through him, another emotion he’s by now familiar with filling him as well, one that he hasn’t given voice to – but it’s come out again and again in many little ways, always unspoken, always eased into. And is that okay? Feeling this way, loving this way, haphazard and in a shape he still hasn’t given much of a name to beyond “Yuma” – is this _okay?_

He has half the mind to reach for his Gazer again, call Yuma out on it. “You kissed me,” he’d write. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know how Yuma would respond to a message about something like that; he doesn’t know if Yuma would understand what that statement from Vector would mean if it takes the form of letters on a screen alone. He doesn’t want to leave something like that up to chance. 

No. What Vector wants is… What he wants is… 

Ten minutes later, Vector trusts himself to move again, changing gears, turning up the radio just to hear some sound other than his own brain trying to get itself together. Making sure it’s fine to pull out of his spot again, he drives. 

His Gazer buzzes, a new message, then another – and he knows from who. He’ll read it later, when he’s settled in for the night, when his mind simmers down again and he won’t worry about stumbling over his words, or feeling too frozen to reply for days at all. 

That’s it, then. He circles the block before stopping by his building. He just needs to calm himself first, wind himself down. A little more time to let it all settle again, deep, so none of it shows at the surface, through his face or his voice or his words. 

And then he can talk with Yuma again, normal, easy. Vector drives in a circle first, one more time. 

* * *

**–because it’s Yuma.**


End file.
